


Halloween Content War 2017

by ambiengrey



Category: Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiengrey/pseuds/ambiengrey
Summary: Jason Todd has a few exciting Halloween experiences.





	1. Autumn;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25th October 2017.

There was something ironic,

perhaps mournful,

and maybe even a little _deserving_ ,

if bitter,

about the fact that he’d died in the middle of spring—

in the midst of pink blossoms, symbolic new beginnings and rebirth—

only to be

 _almost_ violently pulled

back into being in the middle of autumn:

the world withering,

fading

and turning

ever colder

as he swallowed caged air

and

opened his burning eyes to

darkness,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I never posted this to the Collection of Mostly Unfinished Fics, and since these _are_ finished (even though I did skip out on one day), and I'm kinda fond of them and I love them because they happened at a time I didn't feel like I could write anything to save my life, I figured they deserve a post all their own, instead of being lumped together with all the other things I'm a lot _less_ fond of nowadays.


	2. Celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26th October 2017.

“So let’s not forget that Damian and I are _still_ the only _legitimate_ deaths in the family,” Jason said, pulling Damian closer with one arm around his shoulders; squeezing. Albeit sour-faced, Damian allowed himself to be man-handled into Jason’s side without objection, save for the usual unimpressed “ _Tt_.”

“Hey, it’s not like I _faked_ my death,” Timothy objected, before side-eying Dick next to him as he mumbled loudly into his third – already empty – coffee cup, “Like _some_ people.”

“Are we never moving past that?” Dick asked, sounding almost exasperated.

His brothers seemed to freeze, Tim and Jason sharing a look before facing Dick’s expectant expression with blank stares; “ _No_ ,” they chorused.

“I concur,” Damian declared; at the floor.

Dick made a noise; sighed, and threw up his hands in defeat.

“Still, Timmers,” Jason was speaking again, ignoring Dick, “You didn’t die for real, so you don’t count.”

Damian nodded.

“But I _would_ have died for real,” Tim countered, “If I hadn’t been unceremoniously _kidnapped_ , thank you very much.”

“‘ _Fortuitously’_ kidnapped, you mean,” Dick said.

“ _Boys_ ,” Bruce appeared, as he so often did, out of seemingly nowhere, to interrupt whatever Jason or Tim might have replied to that, heavily placing a hand on each of his middle son’s shoulders. “It’s _not_ a competition.”

“Because _we_ ’ve already won,” Jason said.

“ _Please_ ,” Bruce intoned, “Can we change the subject?” he asked, giving Jason a meaningful look. The younger man’s throat worked. Damian’s gaze lifted to watch Jason as carefully as Dick and Tim were doing.

“…Sure,” Jason said easily, slapping the back of his hand against Bruce’s chest. “Why don’t you share the good news with Tim.”

“Good news?” Tim said, to Bruce, as _he_ spoke, the same, at Jason.

Dick snorted into his drink, and Damian groaned, rolling his eyes.

“ _This_ ,” Jason said, exasperated, as he pried Bruce’s left hand from his shoulder by the ring finger, practically shoving the digit in his face, “You unromantic oaf.”

“Oh!” Bruce said, too loudly, and slipped his finger from Jason’s grip. “O-of course,” he cleared his throat.

“Do I need to be concerned?” Tim was stage-whispering at Dick, who made a see-saw motion with his free hand in reply, before pinching an inch of air between his thumb and forefinger. “Little bit? Alright,” Tim concluded, returning his attention to Bruce with an expectant grin on his face.

Bruce glared. Briefly.

“I have asked Selina to marry me, and she has accepted.”

“Oh,” Tim said, not hiding his surprise. “Oh…wow. Okay. Congratulations,” he offered his hand to shake, and Bruce clasped it firmly.

“ _Thank you; Tim._ ”

“You’re alright with this?” Jason asked, apparently incredulous. “She’s a villain—”

“ _You’re_ a villain,” Damian declared, shooting daggers at Jason from where he was still tucked in against the older man’s side.

Jason held the boy tighter, “So I’d know best—”

“You’re not a villain, Jason,” Bruce said firmly. “And _neither_ is Selina.”

“Ignore him, Bruce. It _is_ good news. I think you and Selina will be good for each other.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“For the record, I agree,” Dick threw in.

“Suck-ups,” Jason said.

“Stupid,” countered Tim.

“Nice come-back.”

“You’re all idiots,” Damian said, before Tim could make another reply, as he shoved Jason’s arm off his shoulders and marched off.

“I—take it he’s _less_ than accepting…?” Tim ventured.

“His issue isn’t with Selina so much as his mom…” Dick replied, “I’ll go—”

“Perhaps it should be me, this time,” Bruce interrupted.

“Yeah, okay,” Dick smiled. “I think he’d like that.”

“Excuse me.”

“Me, too, kiddos,” Jason announced. “I got to go see an Amazon about a backwards Superman.”

“Bizarro still—” Dick began,

“A total smarticle? Yeah, it’s awesome.”

“Like how smart?” Tim asked.

“On a scale of ‘one to Tim?’ Tim _othy_ ,” Jason said, with a lopsided grin.

“Where ‘one’ is equal to Jason’s lame, nonsensical jokes? Gotcha,” Tim replied.

“You’re adorable,” Jason said dryly, ruffling Tim’s already messy hair. Tim punched him in the bicep. Hard.

“Say ‘hi’ to Artemis for me,” Dick said, in part by way of breaking up a potential slap-fest before it started.

“Not if I conveniently forget to,” Jason replied with a wink. He extended a hand towards Tim. “Timothy. Always a pleasure. And congratulations on not being dead.”

Tim took the hand, “Gee, thanks.”

“Try and keep it that way.”

“You first.”

“Hardy-har,” Jason slapped him lightly on the back of the head, skipping away fast enough Tim’s retaliation missed. He kept walking, throwing them a last jaunty wave, “See you.”

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled, waving back. Dick slung his arm around Tim’s shoulders, and they watched their brother disappear into the depths of the cave.

“At the risk of sounding like Jason,” Dick said eventually. “Wanna swap near-death experiences?”

“That your clever way of asking me if I want to talk about it?”

Dick shrugged, “Maybe.”

“I’ve already typed up everything in my report—”

“You _know_ that’s not what I mean.”

Tim crossed his arms, let the resulting silence linger a moment. “Is there a pumpkin-spiced latte with extra caffeine in it for me?”

“Of course!” Dick replied at once, swinging Tim around with him and walking them toward the elevator. “Just, you know, _without_ the caffeine.”


	3. Monsters—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27th October 2017.

When Jason woke up he knew he was not alone in the room, the dark lessened somewhat by the hallway light past the open door, and a glow beyond the windows.

Still groggy from sleep and something else, it took him a moment to realise the silhouette against the brightened curtains did not belong to Batman; but to Ace.

He was undoubtedly in his room at the manor, and, a brief glance around while his vision fully adjusted to the almost-dark further confirmed it.

He’d woken from an apparently dreamless sleep, but couldn’t remember having gone to bed. The last thing he could think of, he’d been in the city – they all had.

Sitting up further, Jason reached toward the nightstand, switching on the table lamp. He didn’t appear to have any injuries that he could either see or feel which was somewhat of a relief, at least.

Ace’s ears twitched at Jason’s movement, but otherwise the dog was sitting incredibly still. He was watching Jason; almost intently.

“Hey, boy,” Jason managed to whisper past an inexplicably sore throat. He swallowed – what had happened to him on patrol? He patted the bed next to him. “Come on.”

Where he usually would have, Ace didn’t take the invitation this time.

Jason frowned. Paused. Rubbed his throat.

For his favourite holiday, Jonathan Crane – Scarecrow – had let loose another “fear toxin.” Bruce had called out the entire family to deal with containing and preventing the spread. All throughout the city, instead of experiencing their worst fears as an extrinsic entity, people had started _turning into_ things they feared the most.

Jason cleared his throat, “What’s the matter, Ace…? You know Alfred won’t care,” Jason shifted, leaning forward to extend his hand in Ace’s direction, “I won’t tell—”

Ace growled, fiercely, showing his teeth and lifting his hind-quarters as if readying to attack—

“What the _hell—?!_ ” Jason pulled his hand back at once—

Another growl, and a bark—

“Ace!” a figure appeared in the doorway to Jason’s other side—

“Alfred—!” Jason croaked, startled—

“ _Cease_.”

Jason watched Ace, heart pounding; but Ace ignored Alfred’s command and snarled again at Jason instead.

“At _once_ ,” Alfred said.

A slow second passed before Ace complied, returning to sitting statuesque.

His eyes never left Jason.

“Out,” Alfred said. Ace visibly hesitated, turned his head at Alfred, as though awaiting a second sign or further instruction. Alfred stared him down, steely-eyed and unwavering.

Finally, Ace jumped from the window-seat, stalked around the bed and out the door, where he immediately sat down, facing the room.

“Alfred?” Jason breathed, “ _What_ did I do?”

“Don’t mind the dog, sir,” Alfred said, almost soothingly, as he came over to the bed, but left the door open. “Have some water; on the nightstand.”

“Who did I hurt?” Jason blurted, before he could stop himself.

“ _No one_ , Master Jason.”

“Ace—” Jason began, throwing a gesture in the dog’s direction, only to cut off when Ace barked and growled at him.

Alfred shot a severe look over his shoulder.

“—begs to differ,” Jason finished, swallowing thickly.

“He’ll come back around,” Alfred assured. “Once he’s realised you’ve returned to normal.”

“Scarecrow,” Jason said, half-thinking aloud. “His toxin got me; that’s the last thing I remember…”

“Yes,” Alfred said, and sat on the edge of the bed. Ace shifted anxiously, eyes darting from Alfred to Jason and back; and back. “Victims all over the city are waking without any recollection of the past 24-hours since Scarecrow’s toxin was released. We’re not certain if this is a side-effect of the toxin, or Master Bruce’s somewhat hastily constructed antidote.

“No other side-effects have been forth-coming, and the earliest victims have made full recoveries. The ones we were in time for, at least…”

Jason fisted his sheets; finally took up Alfred’s offer and swallowed several large gulps of water from the glass beside his bed.

“You’re avoiding the question,” he accused.

“Master Bruce managed to locate and restrain you within minutes of your exposure. He returned you here, where we administered the antidote within a handful of hours.

“You hardly had occasion to _do_ anything, Master Jason.”

“Then you _don’t_ have a reason not to tell me.”

“Sir—”

“Alfred!” Jason snapped. “… _Please_.”

Alfred came to his feet, straightened his jacket and avoided meeting Jason’s gaze for a moment.

“Mostly,” he said at last, not looking away. “You _laughed_ , sir. Hysterically.”

Jason drew a shuddering breath, knowing at once what that meant; looked over at Ace – no wonder the dog was wary and anxious about him. He must have sounded just like—

Jason dropped his head into his hands, dragged his palms across his face.

“Alfred…” he mumbled, but didn’t know what he meant to say.

“Have some more water,” Alfred advised, gently. “And more _rest_. Breakfast is not for several more hours. Shall I return with a tray? Unless you’d like to join us at the table?”

Jason shook his head, eyes on his bedding, “…A tray’s fine.”

“Very well, lad,” Alfred replied, and made his way back to the door. “…Master Jason—”

“I’m fine, Alfred,” he cut in, attempted a convincing expression to accompany the claim. “You promise I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“I do,” Alfred nodded. “You didn’t.”

“Get some rest, Alfie,” Jason said, and scooted back under the covers, turned away from the door as he pulled the sheets up to his ears. “You had a long night.”

“Hm. …Indeed.”

Ace made a noise like an uncertain whine, before Jason heard the door close.

He didn’t stay for breakfast, but snuck out before sunrise, picking up the morning paper from a stand on a sidewalk in the city—

**_Gotham: Night of Monsters_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How rude am I; this one is my favourite?


	4. *zombies*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28th October 2017.
> 
> This should be read as a conversation happening alongside the conversation in Chapter 2: Celebration.

“Excluded once again, Miss Cassandra?” Alfred asked, offering the last pumpkin juice from his tray.

Cassandra sighed, taking the proffered beverage with a tired smile. “Yes.”

“Well,” Alfred shifted the tray under his arm. “Let’s not tell Master Bruce just _how_ many times you’ve died, shall we? He might have a heart attack.”

Cassandra nodded sagely, “Wouldn’t be good.”

“Not with a wedding looming, no,” Alfred agreed. Paused. “Hm. Perhaps we _should_ tell him.”

“Alfred,” Cassandra grinned. “ _No_.”

“I _jest_ , of course,” the butler amended, even as the corners of his mouth expertly hid a smile. “Of course.”

“Of _course_ ,” Cassandra agreed.

“Good heavens,” Alfred said, with mirth, “I _do_ hope Miss Kyle knows what she’s getting herself into.”

“Zombies, “Cassandra stated.

“Zombies. Quite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I throw in some pre-nu52 history for funsies, because what is continuity even? Ha.


	5. ~Haunting~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29th October 2017.

Alfred had felt the peculiar presence off and on since Master Jason’s untimely passing six months prior, but it had never before felt as heavy as it did this night—

As though it was desperate to be felt, to convey some message it frantically needed to get across.

There was none of the usual playfulness it generally presented with. Early on it had found apparent joy in knocking Alfred’s books from shelves while he cleaned (but only ever the ones at the bottom), tipping the sugar and the salt all over Master Bruce’s plate at breakfast while he wasn’t looking, knocking over chairs, leaving the refrigerator door open. Harmless attention-seeking pranks that had continued for weeks, bordering on months, until Alfred had sat down in his usual nook for tea, poured two cups and addressed the invisible boy in the corner of the room directly, _“Master Jason.”_

He still threw the salt-shaker over Master Bruce’s breakfast on occasion, but in an affectionate sort of way. _Mostly_.

There was no affection or even melancholy – the former light and close and everywhere, like a deep breath of fresh air, or an all-enveloping embrace, while the latter was a tight, contained oppression, tucked into a corner of the room, breeding loneliness and longing even as it refused to be comforted – to Master Jason’s presence this time.

This was new, and urgent.

Alfred felt it first when he came up from the cave and continued through the study – from the window seat Master Jason leapt, pressing heavily against Alfred’s chest, tugging. Impatiently, Master Jason shifted towards the door, as if beckoning Alfred, who had had to stop abruptly when Jason befell him, to follow.

In his mind’s eye, from a memory feeling too-distant now, Alfred could conjure the boy’s face; the curve of dark brows pulling together, the squint of his near-blue eyes and the frustrated pout as he was made to wait. Alfred saw the expression on a small, puffy-cheeked face, before it morphed onto an older version, with a more defined jawline, stronger cheekbones. Not so mature as to be an adult yet, but certainly not quite a child any longer, either.

On occasion Alfred wondered which face the ghost he couldn’t see was wearing. Did he know himself? Had he picked one, or been given the one he’d left them with? Alfred hoped it was not the latter.

The study door rattled, returning Alfred from his reverie, and making him again aware of the heaviness in the room, waiting.

Mumbling an apology, Alfred straightened, and continued, following in Master Jason’s wake, as the heaviness moved through the manor, toward the front door.

They had barely come into the foyer, or the doorbell sounded.

Abruptly, Master Jason vanished.

He did not often go away so suddenly unless he was in a mood, or, on later occasions, because he was immediately needed at Master Bruce’s side. Even in death he was still Robin. It was not quite enough to keep Master Bruce from grieving in his own, albeit especially violent, way, and more often than not Alfred suspected it hurt more than it helped. Moreover, Alfred believed Master Jason knew as well, which is why he only ever appeared at Master Bruce’s side when it was desperately necessary.

Was it desperately necessary now?

Cautious, Alfred opened the front door, and was overcome again with Master Jason’s presence – coated with feelings of reassurance and tenderness, this time.

When Alfred opened the door, it was to a small group of children in wrinkled, tattered clothing with a distinct appearance less of ‘costume bought’ and more of ‘hastily thrown together whatever,’ their hair in tangled disarray either too long or too crookedly cut to have been done by any professional – or any adult for that matter.

The eldest of the group stood at the back, five small faces in front of him while he hovered protectively, with the littlest of the bunch in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder.

The boys and girls put on smiles, shy and uncertain as they were, and chorused in an uncoordinated rush, “Trick—trick or treat!” as they lifted thin, bruised arms with tiny hands, holding out their bags for candy.

“Ah!” Alfred said and smiled amiably. At the back, the eldest boy shifted his weight, eyeing the kids before fastening his gaze intently on Alfred. “And who do we have here?”

The children looked even more uncertain, looking to each other, and finally back at their tallest member for guidance.

The boy’s expression intensified as he nearly snapped, “Ghouls and zombies; now y’got any candy or not?”

A shift in the atmosphere alerted Alfred to a spike of uneasiness in Jason’s demeanour, but the butler understood. Master Jason had led the street kids to the manor. Alfred was not surprised.

Still in training, and Gotham’s usual asylum escapees running rampant all at once, besides, Master Jason had spent his first Halloween at the manor, _in_ the manor.

Taking advantage of Master Bruce’s absence, Master Dick had paid a rare visit – in honour of his newly acquired younger brother’s first Halloween.

Eavesdropping – not proudly – Alfred had heard Master Jason sharing with Dick something akin to: “Halloween’s the best time of year for a street kid, if you can get your hands on a semi-decent costume and you’re brave enough to venture into the pretty part of town… it’s not the healthiest living, sure, if you don’t know where a dentist lives, or Halloween-hating spiteful folk who’d rather give you apples or toothpaste than candy,” he’d chuckled half-heartedly, and Master Dick had smiled, but Jason turned sombre in the next moment, “It’s a…a nice…nice _change_ not having to wear out my feet looking after a free meal… Being in a _home_ for once.”

“…I’m sorry, Jay,” Master Dick had said quietly, but Master Jason had snorted and scowled.

“I feel bad,” he’d scathed. “I’m set up here all plush. There are still kids on the street without food tonight. Or any night for that matter. I don’t deserve this any more than they do.”

“As I understand it,” Master Dick had countered, knowingly, “Street kids don’t take kindly to handouts. Especially coming from the silver-spooned – or snot-nosed ‘rags-to-riches’ peers.”

“Hardy-har,” Master Jason had glowered, but Master Dick had continued unfazed by the pint-sized bat-glare.

“Even on Halloween, so,” Dick had shrugged. “What to do?” and Master Jason had groaned dejectedly, sinking further into his bent knees and crossed arms, the book he’d been reading pressed to his chest.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m sulking,” he’d mumbled.

“You know who they might take hand-outs from, though?” Master Dick had asked a short while later, apparently having let Jason wallow long enough. “On Halloween, or any other night for that matter?”

Master Jason had squinted at him suspiciously, and again Alfred could still imagine the young boy’s scrunched expression – even though the last time he’d seen it, he’d been older than that night.

Dick had let the silence linger until Jason had made an exasperated noise, forcing the older man to punch him lightly on the shoulder – earning him an affronted look – as he provided the answer, “ _Robin_ , silly.”

“I’m…not allowed out,” Master Jason had replied, to which Master Dick had laughed heartily.

He’d promptly talked the boy into going out, ‘under Nightwing’s supervision,’ and a kind of tradition had been established.

Alfred, despite being caught up with Gotham’s craziest underbelly on arguably the worst night of the year, had not forgotten to prepare for the boys’ usual custom, although he’d rather expected Master Dick to show up for the occasion, not the street kids themselves.

Apparently, since Robin wouldn’t be out this Halloween, he’d decided he’d lead the kids to the right house at least.

Having demanded “candy or not,” the eldest boy levelled Alfred with a most impressive glare – raising the Batman and a pair of Bat-protégés, glares could not be received with anything other than a comparative pride or disappointment nowadays. It was not an expression likely to be met with anything but disdain and a slammed door at any other house, however.

The atmosphere took on a concerned, warning edge.

Alfred and the boy both glanced to the side – to Master Jason’s presence – and back to one another. Realization dawned on the young lad’s face and something close to fear swelled in his widening eyes.

“We’ve no treats; I’m afraid,” Alfred replied quickly, “But a trick perhaps?”

“No,” said the boy at once, “Whatever; let’s go—” he tugged at one of the younger ones in front of him, gripped the girl in his arms tighter – she’d started lifting her head and peering through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

“Won’t you indulge an old magician?” Alfred said, flourishing a white-tipped wand and top hat out of nowhere, spraying glitter and confetti to delightful, awed reactions from his young audience. Still, Alfred raised his eyebrows questioningly at the tallest boy, who had paused at the spectacle.

Finally he relented, under the pleading gazes and whispers for acquiescence from his companions, and turned fully back to face Alfred. Master Jason’s own plea and calm reassurance directed at the boy did not go unfelt, either.

The little ones cheered, and the smallest came more awake, rubbing at her eyes.

“This better be good,” the boy grumbled, slightly jostling the girl in his arms as he settled her on his hip to better see.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Alfred said, settling the top hat upon his head almost haughtily, “Should my performance prove unsatisfactory,” while he might not have stocked up on candy for this year’s holiday, Alfred had every intention of treating the children in any case. He was not about to let Master Jason down. “I will gift you this,” Alfred flicked the wand sideways, extending it into a cane, bent at the end, and used it to heft a basket from the side table next to the door. “This was meant for Mrs Harris. Poor dear is getting on,” he added conspiratorially to the children, who were leaning forward and standing on tip-toes to see. Alfred opened the lid a peak, “Let’s see – some fresh fruits, vegetables, rolls; canned goods, an assortment of other necessities I’m sure you’ll find some use for, and—”

“Fine, it’s a deal,” the boy at the back cut in sharply. “Just do your stupid trick so I can call it lame, and we can go.”

Jason seemed a nervous ball of energy to Alfred’s right, fearful perhaps that the children would bolt.

“Very well,” Alfred complied, as much to the boy as to Master Jason. He set the basket down and retracted the cane, now unbent, back into a wand. One of the boys in front sniffed just then, loud and deep, reigning in a thick, yellow booger – not for the first time.

Alfred didn’t shudder, though he might have in his youth, but took advantage to segue instead, “You should always carry a handkerchief with you, young sir,” he said primly, and pulled his own from the breast pocket of his vest. And pulled.

And pulled.

                And pulled.

The children giggled and clapped in wonder, the littlest one’s eyes widening with every new colourful handkerchief popping out from Alfred’s pocket, seamlessly tied to the previous.

At the last, Alfred untied it from the string and handed it to the boy in front. The others _oo_ ’ed at it, reaching to touch the soft blue fabric all at once, and the boy had to clutch it close and slap at the others to keep them off, until he finally pressed it against his nose and blew; hard.

The children squirmed and left him alone.

One of the girls, her red hair curly and wild, had been ignoring him in favour of fingering the pile at Alfred’s feet instead. While the others were occupied, she’d caught the end of the handkerchief train and shyly held it up for Alfred to take back.

“Thank you very much, miss,” he said, before, louder, “ _Now_ ,” he stuffed the handkerchiefs into his fist, and the little girl watched eagerly to see where they would come out, but they didn’t. The other children watched as well, and once the last handkerchief was out of sight, Alfred pulled out a small bouquet to a shower of glitter in their place.

The children applauded and bounced on their feet.

Alfred bent low, and presented the flowers to the redhead, “For you, miss.”

She giggled and grinned, and took the flowers with small, stained fingers, immediately burying her nose in the soft petals.

The boy at the back was watching Alfred almost sceptically, but the girl in his arms eyes’ were wide and her mouth agape. She groped at the air and leaned so unexpectedly forward, she might have tumbled right out of the boy’s grasp if his reflexes were any slower.

“I want’tha haf,” she exclaimed, voice croaky and the air singing through the gaps in her teeth.

“ _No_ ,” he whispered, and resettled her better on his hip, but the other children had heard and chorused over him, “I want!”

“Me, too!”

“I wanna have!”

“Please, me too!”

“Of course, of course,” Alfred said, and raised the wand. “There’s enough for all of you.”

The children cheered, but the boy at the back scowled.

Alfred ran his hand over the white tip of the wand, and pulled a small cluster of flowers, wrapped in a handkerchief, from the end – the children watched, clapping and smiling, excitedly anticipating their turn to receive a bundle.

Alfred saved the smallest one for last, before addressing the boy; still watching Alfred with a frown and a pout. While the features were vastly different, and the brown eyes held no softness underneath, Alfred was achingly reminded of Master Jason all the same.

He smiled, almost fondly, “I can tell you have not been impressed or entertained.”

The boy scoffed in response, and might have said something, but Alfred had already flicked the wand and was lifting the basket above the children’s heads for him to take.

“A deal is a deal,” Alfred said.

Jason’s presence reeked of satisfaction, gratefulness, and just a touch of fondness – for Alfred or the children, or perhaps both; however, Alfred couldn’t quite tell.

“Yeah, it is,” the boy replied, snatching the basket off the hook, “Let’s go!” he barked at the kids, and ushered them off the porch in a hurry.

“I thought it was nice,” the little redhead said to Alfred, and he smiled most graciously at her, before she spun about and hurried to join the others.

“Thanks,” the tall boy mumbled, almost imperceptibly taking in the space Master Jason was occupying as he said it, before following the littler ones across the yard.

Alfred watched them cross halfway before he shut the manor’s front doors and set aside his wand and hat. Jason lingered, quite obviously pleased.

“You’re very welcome, sir,” Alfred said. “I’ll be sure to ask Master Dick what he’s been up to this evening. In the meantime I’ll prepare another basket. I expect you’ll want to see to it the children arrive home safely—”

_“Penny-One,”_ unexpectedly, Master Bruce’s voice crackled through the comm-link in Alfred’s ear. _“Prepare the med-bay – ETA six minutes.”_

“At once, sir,” Alfred replied, already headed back to the study. Jason’s demeanour had shifted into concern, “He’ll be fine, sir, he always is,” Alfred tried to reassure. “I’ll see to it,” but Jason had gone from concern to panic, and too late Alfred realised he’d not moved out of the foyer even though Alfred could still feel his distress. The butler turned back, “Master Jason—” it was overwhelming to be so close, panic turning to pain and desperation—

It was an entirely different feeling from the heavy urgency from before, or the oppressive sadness Master Jason could sometimes exude—

It was light, floating, drifting away when it wanted to stay; chilling and without air—

For a moment it felt as though Jason was reaching for Alfred, but he’d barely gotten close enough to clutch at the man’s arms, or—

He was gone.

“…Jason?” Alfred whispered to the emptiness. There was no reply. “Master Bruce?”

_“Five minutes, Penny-One,”_ came the reply.

“Indeed, sir,” Alfred said, and made his way toward the study once more, watching every corner for a feeling that wasn’t there. “Are you—” _Alone?_

“Do you feel—” _Master Jason’s presence with you?_

_“I’ll be fine, Alfred… I just need a quick patch-up before I go back out there. Don’t argue,”_ he added pointedly, but Alfred was too distracted with trying to feel out Master Jason for one of his usual quips in response.

By the end of the night, he had not felt the boy’s return or had enough courage to outright ask Master Bruce if _he’d_ felt it, either – they had not mentioned it to one another or acknowledged that they knew the other knew.

Alfred couldn’t have known the next time Jason would grace them with his presence it would be a haunting of an entirely different kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a _close_ second to Monsters for my fave <3 I'm kind of still really proud of this one XP


	6. death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30th October 2017.
> 
> This takes place in the _Young Justice_ cartoon universe, though it does incorporate some comic book events from the way back.

Jason had been prattling on about this to anyone who would lend him half an ear, for _weeks_.

From the boys and girls in charge of make-up and costume, to design, to the choreographers and script-writers, to the teacher in charge of production and back again – he had several stories to tell about each of them and their process; a new one after every rehearsal. To the point where Bruce had to _ask_ Jason which department he was in, because it sounded like he was part of every one.

He’d paused, and rubbed the back of his neck, and blushed, and grinned, “Oh! I’m acting,” after which he’d immediately gone into a story about his “co-stars” and how excited they all were.

In all the time he’d regaled them with his theatre tales – of whom Alfred was eventually the only one who could stand to listen for more than twenty minutes, much to Bruce’s shame, but alas – he’d absolutely refused to say what they were performing, or the role he’d been cast in.

“It’s a _surprise_ ,” he’d insisted.

Two weeks before their performance invitations had gone out and at least now, they knew what the play was going to be, and the general theme of it.

Jason was delighted to share more information, but Bruce and Dick had claimed not wanting to be spoiled, and Jason had, pouting, been forced to silence.

“Okay, this _isn’t_ a spoiler,” he was saying now, hands gesticulating as he spoke, “Because you’ve already read the book, but just so you _know_ – we’re doing a lot of the original stuff with this. Like – Peter, _killing off the Lost Boys_ ,” he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially even though they were alone in the hallway. “Because it had to be _scary_ , for Halloween.”

“Of course,” Bruce said agreeably, equally quiet.

“But you’ll never _believe_ what happens after that, or by the end – we had to ‘up’ the scare-factor, after all. And yeah, it’s probably really stupid and a disgrace to literature in general, but…this is high school, I guess,” he shrugged, like it couldn’t be helped.

“Naturally,” Bruce said. “So, what role will you be playing, then?”

“I’ll be—” Jason started, but cut himself off abruptly. “—oh, nice try,” he said instead, a suspicious little quiver in his voice, and he jabbed at Bruce’s arm. “But I’m not telling you; it’s a sur- _prise_ ,” he enunciated slowly and firmly, giving Bruce a meaningful look. The quiver had gone.

Bruce chuckled good-naturally. Trying to trick Jason into revealing his part in the play had become a competition between Bruce and Dick – and Alfred, and eventually the Team, and even Diana (Bruce isn’t entirely certain Jason hadn’t caved and told her, actually) – besides which, it had served as a good deterrent against Jason’s theatre talk continuing on too long, less someone try and catch him slipping up. He’d been making Alfred nostalgic, and Bruce didn’t know how much longer he could listen to Alfred reminisce.

“Well,” Bruce patted Jason on the back, “I tried.”

They fell into a seemingly comfortable silence as they continued down corridors towards the school’s theatre hall, but, after a short while, Jason lagged behind, and stopped.

Bruce stopped as well, turning around, “Jay?”

Jason stood with his head bowed, fingers fidgeting.

His mood had changed so unexpectedly, Bruce had to take a quick, surreptitious breath, to keep him calm. Dealing with Jason was a difficult endeavour for Bruce, who was, somehow, prone to saying the wrong thing more often than not. On occasion, he’d gone so far as to ask _Clark_ – who had arguably no experience raising a son, since he and Conner had decided they were rather brothers instead – of all people, for advice.

Bruce approached, settling a hopefully comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Pre-performance jitters?”

Jason shook his head, “No, no; it’s…nothing like that.”

“Alright…” Bruce said slowly. “Something else on your mind, then…?”

“Um…yeah,” Jason mumbled, and touched at Bruce’s sleeve. “Can…we talk?”

“Jason,” Bruce squeezed his shoulder, caught slightly off-guard by the boy’s hesitation. “Of course, kiddo.”

“Okay,” Jason breathed, and slipped out from under his hand, pulling Bruce along by the edge of his sleeve, into a stairwell and onto the first landing before he let go.

Bruce stood with a fair view of the hallway they’d come from, and the ascending stairs. Jason took a step or two up and clutched at the railing as he faced Bruce.

“I… don’t want you to be mad,” he started.

Bruce had already repeated their earlier conversation in his head three times, looking for some indication of what he might have said to have triggered Jason’s change in demeanour, but he’d come up empty.

“Or… disappointed,” Jason added bitterly.

Bruce shifted his feet; uneasy and unsure of how to respond.

Jason glanced up at him briefly, and Bruce hoped he’d smoothed the frown from his face quick enough. He didn’t want Jason to think he was glaring at him.

“Okay, so,” Jason started again, “I’m Peter,” he looked up, eyes wary and expectant. “In the play…” he trailed off.

“Alright…” Bruce said, uncertainly, and leaned forward to whisper, half-smiling to try and lighten the mood, “Why am I privy to this information all of a sudden?”

“ _Because_ —Peter murders the Lost Boys, and I’m…Peter,” Jason explained uneasily. “And I don’t want you to be mad—”

“ _Jason_ ,” Bruce cut in, gripping the banister as he came closer. “It’s a _play_.”

“I know, but—”

“It isn’t _real_ —”

“I _know_ that,” Jason nearly snapped, sounding exasperated, and Bruce thought he’d said the wrong thing again. “It’s just that, after what happened—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bruce interjected, knowing what Jason was referring to and not wanting him to finish the sentence. Bruce thought he had a vague idea of where this was headed, and he didn’t like it. He might have said more if he knew how exactly to continue, or Jason’s face didn’t suddenly look so startled.

“ _What_?”

“You haven’t said that to me before,” Jason answered, hushed, almost awed, as if this was the first time it even occurred to him—

“It—” _was implied_ , Bruce almost said, but stopped – that would definitely be the wrong thing to say. “You said it was an accident,” he said instead, “I believed you.”

“You—

“You _believed_ me?” Jason questioned, sounding caught somewhere between incredulity and frustration. “Bruce. You hardly _acknowledged_ me. You _benched_ me; sent me to Dinah, and avoided me for a week!”

Bruce glanced sideways at the hallway, one hand raised, placating, before he tried to explain, “I was not—avoiding you,” he kept his voice carefully levelled. At least Jason hadn’t raised his above an angry whisper.

“Well, that’s what it _felt_ like,” Jason countered.

“…I was working the case,” Bruce said, and continued before Jason could add something and make him feel guiltier. “As for benching you, and your appointments with Dinah—” for a moment he considered asking if Dick had not explained that, but then changed his mind. “You had a traumatic experience – not just watching a man fall while you could do nothing to save him,” Jason shifted his weight, not looking up, but Bruce ploughed through, “Not to mention the victim right before—”

“ _Gloria_ ,” Jason whispered.

“Yes. Gloria. The case as a whole was taking its toll on you, Jay,” Bruce heaved a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his feet as he admitted, “It’s cases like those that make me question letting you kids into this life.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Jason said defiantly, however quiet.

“I know…” Bruce said, looking up again. “I made you see Dinah, because I thought you’d need someone to talk to about what you’d been through.”

“I wanted to talk to _you_ ,” Jason said, and when he looked at Bruce, his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears.

Bruce swallowed thickly, “I’m no good at talking…” he said gently. It was different with Jason – especially after this incident. With Dick, Bruce could claim some training exercise or another, and spend time with him for a few hours – or a few days. Sometimes that, and almost never a full-length conversation, was enough to get him forgiven.

But Jason, more often than not, responded better to verbal reassurance. Grandiose gestures often overwhelmed and embarrassed him. There was no good way to explain that Bruce could not have communicated well on this issue, because he had been struggling with whether or not to believe his adopted son had in fact shoved a man off a balcony to his death – and subsequently lied about it. Or, attempted and failed to save him.

Or, chose not to attempt at all.

“You could have tried…” Jason replied.

If Jason spoke to Dinah, Bruce had reasoned, he could receive more professional help in dealing with his trauma than Bruce could provide, and, Bruce could drown in the ignorant belief of his son’s innocence that came with taking the boy at his word without investigating or thinking about it further.

As opposed to treating every shared thought and feeling of Jason’s as a fact of the case; analysing, judging and questioning it – and Jason – endlessly.

“You’re right…” Bruce admitted. “I could have,” he shook his head regrettably. With encouragement from Dick, who had handled the situation a lot better than Bruce (naturally), Alfred and the Team, Jason had joined the theatre group. “I should have,” he added, and stepped closer. Bruce had thought showing an interest would be enough. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I will, from now on,” he hadn’t expected it to haunt Jason for this long. “I _promise_ , Jason. I’m sorry.”

Jason ducked his head, hiding an embarrassed smile and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He looked back up, “You really believed me…?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bruce said firmly. If any doubts had lingered, he was banishing them immediately.

Jason lurched forward, swinging his arms around Bruce’s middle and hiding his face against his chest. “Thanks…” he mumbled.

Bruce wrapped his arm about the boy’s shoulders and squeezed, “Of course, Jay.”

“So…if I wanted to talk to you…?”

“Anytime,” Bruce promised. “About anything,” he let go, and Jason stepped back, as he added, “And, I’m not mad about the play.”

Jason smiled, however briefly, “I’d never—”

Bruce ruffled his hair, clutched his shoulder. “I know.”

“I don’t think the play can start without you, Jay!” a voice called from below – Dick.

“Right,” Jason said, and slipped around Bruce and down the stairs. “I’ll go on ahead, okay? You can find your seats?”

“’Course,” Dick said easily – by which he probably meant Alfred already had – hands on his hips, smile on his face.

“Okay,” Jason trotted on one spot, and then sprinted down the hall, narrowly avoiding Dick catching him for a headlock, but not escaping a hair-ruffle in passing. He laughed, sounding only _almost_ too much like Robin.

Bruce came down slowly, debating whether or not to ask Dick how much he’d heard.

“You’re late,” he said instead.

“Mission ran late,” Dick shrugged.

“Any mishaps?”

“How bout I tell you after?” Dick suggested, clapping Bruce on the back and basically steering him along.

“Fair enough,” Bruce agreed. After a moment, he said, “You owe me a twenty.”

“ _No_!” Dick exclaimed. “He told you who he is?”

Bruce chuckled, “He did.”

“It’s Peter, isn’t it?” Dick asked, bouncing in his step.

Bruce only shook his head, “I’m not telling you.”

“Twenty bucks says he is.”

“I’m not betting with you anymore.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ve already won.”

“Rub it in.”

“I am.”

“…B?”

“Hm?”

“You’re good, right?”

“…Yes, Dick. We’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was another prompt after this, since there's another day! But I didn't write anything for it. I guess the "muses" had gone by then. Heh.


End file.
